I said I don’t write poetry…I lied

My mind ripples.

Like a mirror pool.

It’s the best way to explain it.

One small thing makes a lasting impact on my thoughts that expand and encompass everything until it is the only thing remaining.

Twisting it, corrupting it. Until I hardly recognise it as my thought at all.

Only it’s not just one ripple.

There are hundreds, starting at the same time or different times, by different things that will inevitably connect in time.

When they do, my mirror will shatter.

Shards of glass will lay discarded, unwanted in a pile. Like the thought never mattered at all.

And where’s the sense in that?

But my mind continues to ripple.

A xo

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Author: ChronicWriter

a writer, living with Endometriosis

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